


I Bear it So You Don't Have To

by brianaa_c



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Comfort Sex, F/M, I promise, Set way after Civil War, also mentions the line in the comics about Bucky putting a bullet in his head, buckynat - Freeform, but it'll be comforting, enjoy, is that even a thing?, just an fyi, lil bit sad, oh well, some MCU, some comic universe, this work mentions very vague abuse that happened in the past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-07-12 09:29:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7096852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brianaa_c/pseuds/brianaa_c
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He always feels a bit guilty when he opens up to Natasha. Sure, the Winter Soldier inside of him might have more blood on his hands, but he had the peace of mind that it wasn't entirely his doing - that he was brainwashed. She never got that luxury. Every single notch on her skin was by her own conscious doing, even if all she was at fault for was simply following orders.</p>
<p>He sees her hand reach out, as if to touch his face, but thinks better of it and pulls it back to her side, fiddling uncomfortably with the hem of his shirt that just grazes the tops of her thighs. She learned over time that it sometimes was best to leave him to himself in times like these.</p>
<p>He wants to say something, anything to make her smile. He hasn't seen it, a real, big grin in so long, since he tried and failed to make her blinis for breakfast in December a few weeks ago. But, the words were stuck in his throat, and all he could do was push past her and head towards the bedroom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Bear It So You Don't Have To

Nights like these always made it hard for Bucky Barnes to go home. It's been years since he's been last controlled by HYDRA, but even the simplest things are still triggering. He guesses some skins just can never be shed. 

His shoulders, both his bionic and flesh, ache as he unlocks the door to his apartment, but for different reasons. Flesh, because of some strained tendon deep underneath his muscles. Bionic, because he had to add another kill to his belt.

_He had no choice,_ he repeated mentally to himself of the way home, over and over again. It didn't make things any better.  _It was either him or Steve. Kill or be killed._

He'd been working on his rationality and mental strength since Wakanda, but the more he learns about his past, the more he lashes out. Becomes a different person, as if his memory was wiped and he was under Russian control again. Steve says it's okay, because it's post traumatic stress disorder and he  _gets it,_ but he still gets that sinking feeling in his stomach when he opens the front door to see Natasha on their couch, sitting with her thin knees to her chest, watching some news channel. Their clean laundry was folded haphazardly in front of her on the coffee table, the laundry basket on the floor. If it were any other moment in his life, he would have made a joke about how she domesticated with him. 

She didn't deserve this. She deserved better.

She gives him a soft smile when she sees him step inside, dropping her legs, sitting cross-legged on the couch. Her red hair falls over her shoulder as she turns her head to face him, the sharp cut flattering her nicely. "I know you don't like me waiting up for you, but I couldn't sleep. And I don't have any underwear left, so I had no choice but to wash clothes."

He just stands there, looking at her and nodding, feeling uncomfortable in his own home. He flexes his metal fingers and then balls them into a tight fist. He does it again, and again.

She studies him, and her eyes grow hard when she realizes what's happening. 

"James..."

He takes a step back when she stands, and he hates himself for the way her body stiffens at his actions. "I didn't..." He tries to explain himself, that he didn't mean to do anything he did tonight, but the words dry up in his throat.

She nods at him, staring at his chest, not wanting to look at him and make him face this if he wasn't ready to. She didn't want to make this harder on him. "Steve told me."

He takes a step into the living room from the hall, and she eyes him warily, his heart sinking. A few years ago, when he first left Wakanda, he really shouldn't have. There were nights that he would go to sleep as Bucky, and wake up as the Winter Soldier. It would never be easy on Natasha. She had bruises on her neck from his metal hand that didn't fade for two weeks. She had to get stitches in her thigh where he stabbed her after he chased her into the kitchen. He once even turned on her during a fight alongside Sam and Steve, knocking her out before Steve could get to him and restrain him. These lapses started to fade, until they ceased to exist altogether, but the memories still stained his mind.

She never questioned him, because she had her fair share of nightmares before, a long time ago in the Red Room. In the mornings, when he would wake after his episodes, she would always be there, her body clinging to his, unafraid. She could never understand what he once went through, and what he's still going through, but she understands  _him._

And because of that, she knows that right now, being around him, pushing him the way she's currently doing, isn't the safest decision.

"How much-" he begins to say, an edge to his raspy voice as he strips himself of his uniform, leaving it carelessly on the ground, facing her in just his underwear. He had to get rid of the ended life that now clung to it. "-did Steve tell you?"

Her eyes finally cut to his. "That if you didn't kill him, that guy would have killed Steve."

He tastes iron in his mouth, and he realizes he's bitten his tongue while she answered him. He breathes, in and out, in and out. "It wasn't my intent to harm."

Natasha purses her lips, walking to him. He stays perfectly still, watching her.

Her mouth opens once she's in front of him, but it takes her a minute to say what she's trying to, and he knows she's trying to make herself believe it, too. Her eyes meet his, and they're glassy.

"Who we are and who we need to be to survive are two very different things."

He closes his eyes. His fingers itch to pull her into his arms, but he can't seem to find the willpower. He doesn't want to taint her. "Even if we aren't proud of who we've become?"

" _I'm_ proud of you, if it means anything," she shrugs. He opens his eyes and finally notices she's wearing his shirt. The gray one she liked so much, with the small hole by the neck from all her wear. "You've come so far since I saw you again on that causeway. You aren't that person anymore."

He pinches the bridge of his nose, and she can tell he's getting aggravated. "I  _am_ that person, Nat. I've just created someone else to cover him up."

He's rendered her speechless, because he's right. He'll never shake the Winter Soldier from his memory. It was a part of him now. Bucky almost wishes that it would be wiped one more damn time, and he'd find Natasha again somewhere in Australia or Western Europe where he wouldn't have to face what he's done.

She takes a step away, looking away from him, rubbing her arm with her hand nervously. It's easy to forget she's suffering too sometimes.

He always feels a bit guilty when he opens up to Natasha. Sure, the Winter Soldier inside of him might have more blood on his hands, but he had the peace of mind that it wasn't entirely his doing - that he was brainwashed, no matter how twisted that thinking process may be. She never got that luxury. Every single notch on her skin was by her own conscious doing, even if all she was at fault for was simply following orders.

He sees her hand reach out, as if to touch his face, but thinks better of it and pulls it back to her side, fiddling uncomfortably with the hem of his shirt that just grazes the tops of her thighs. She learned over time that it sometimes was best to leave him to himself in times like these.

He wants to say something, anything to make her smile. He hasn't seen it, a real, big grin in so long, since he tried and failed to make her blinis for breakfast in December a few weeks ago. But, the words were stuck in his throat, and all he could do was push past her and head towards the bedroom.

She doesn't chase him, as she learnt not to. She listens to him get in and out of the shower, and when she knows he's settled in bed, she gives him at least a half hour before entering their bedroom. He watches her as she slips his shirt off her body and lets it drop to the floor by her feet, revealing her bare body underneath, the moon reflecting off of her pale skin. She slides into bed next to him, staying on her respective side as she eventually falls asleep, their backs facing each other.

He's not sure how much time he spent lying awake since he shifted onto his back, but he looks over at the clock, reading 3:41 am. Natasha's quiet breaths are calming him, grounding him, keeping him from dissociating again. She has that sort of power over him. It's one of the reasons why he loves her.

He turns his head to look at her, his eyes adjusting in the dark to her body next to him. She's on her stomach now, the comforter bunched around her waist, exposing the smooth curve of her back to the darkness. She's always been hot-blooded, never liked to bother much with clothes or covers when she didn't have to. Her head is turned away from him, her hands crossed under her head and pillow. Her pale back is rising and falling with every breath.

"Nat," he whispers. She doesn't stir. 

Gently, he brings up his right hand, placing his pointer finger on the groove of her spine, bringing it down to the dimples in her lower back. He watches her shiver. "Natalia."

She shifts slightly and her head turns to face him, her sleepy fingers already reaching out into the dark as if they were waiting for a cue to move, trying to find him. Her hand meets the hard muscle in his side, and she latches onto him and uses him as an anchor, pulling herself to him. She sighs as she settles her head on his metal shoulder, practically in a state of bliss when his arms finally encompass her. Her naked body is warm against his as she curves herself against him.

"I love you."

He wants to say it back, because she deserves to hear it more than he's willing to say it, but he can't find his voice. She reaches up and rubs her thumb over his collarbone lazily, her hot fingers soothing, silently letting him know that she knew, that it's okay.

His fingers press into her lower back, and she melts into him. She intertwines their legs, her toes running up and down his calf. 

"You know," she starts as a whisper, her voice still threaded with sleep, kissing his chest lightly. He closes his eyes. "I spent seventy years looking for you."

"Is that right?" He asks in a murmur. He's heard this story multiple times, but one more wouldn't hurt him. He liked hearing it, actually. It gave his mind the option to shut up the voices of all the ghosts and just  _listen_ to her.

He can hear the smile in her voice as she speaks quietly, as if not wanting to wake the night. "I was practically a teenager in love who didn't know how to accept defeat. You know that now."

Natasha feels his chuckle under her head, in his chest, but it's grim. "I'm not complaining. I doubt I did back then, either."

"I tracked you everywhere." Her finger was drawing soft shapes on his stomach. "My favorite was East Berlin in 1984. I wasn't your mission then, I was still a spy for Russia, and you smiled at me in a bar. You had no idea who I was then, but that smile meant everything to me. Still does."

He thinks it's interesting, learning about his past from others. At first, it was terrifying. He wasn't trusting anyone. He was pulled to Natasha instantly, though, and now that he knew the full extent of their past, it made sense why. She was perfect for him. His other half. His  _better_ half, actually.

"'Course I smiled. You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

She rolls her eyes, and he watches the moon reflect off of the whites in her eyes. "Don't tell me you're getting _soft_ on me, are you  _Bucky?"_

He grins for the first time in the past week. She never particularly liked calling him Bucky, and it sounded forced and awkward when it rolled off her tongue. She only did it sarcastically, when they were alone in the comfort of their apartment, without Steve around to give her shit for it.

His right hand goes to the back of her head, her hair soft against his calloused fingers. He leans his head down to talk in her ear. "You mean so much to me, Natalia Alianovna Romanova."

He hears her sigh, her body relaxing even more under his fingers. She stretches her body against his, and she shudders when he runs his hand down the length of her body, from shoulder to thigh. She was always so receptive to him.

She puts a hand on his chest and pushes up slightly, looking down at him as she hikes a leg around his waist, settling in closer. "It's sexy when you say my name like that." She grins down at him, and the moon shining in the room accentuates her white teeth. "Your accent is still perfect."

The corners of his mouth curl up as she looks down at him, running her finger up from his jaw to his temple. The metal hand still on her back pushes her down gently, and she takes his hint, pressing her lips to his.

She instantly reacts, shifting her weight to straddle him. One of his hands goes to curl around her thigh while the other stays firmly on her back, holding her in place. Natasha's hair drops from behind her ear, acting like a shield, blocking off the rest of the world from their kiss.

"I love you," she repeats against him, this time in Russian. She usually used her mother language around him, when she was most comfortable in her environment. The hand on her back tightens, securing her to his chest as he sits up, and she winds her arms around his neck to attempt to pull him even closer. Her fingers play with the dark hair skimming his shoulders as he kisses her. He found out she liked his hair on the longer side, so he let it continue to grow out.

Her fingers suddenly tighten and she pulls his head back, moving her lips to his jaw. She feels his strong chest deflate against hers as he lets an airy chuckle into the dark. She kisses down his neck, leaving behind bruises that'll most likely be gone by morning. It was almost a shame he was a super soldier. 

Her lips are on his collar bone when the hand on her thigh travels to her ass, and she's practically purring against him from his touch as she arches her back, pressing her chest into his. She moves back to his mouth, and he eagerly kisses her back.

Natasha had always been a pretty physical person, whether it be in combat or relationships. She's never been particularly good at addressing her feelings through verbal communication, even with Bucky. She used her libido to her advantage, choosing to use her body to get her point across to him.

Her fingers trail up his spine, from the top of his underwear to the nape of his neck, and he feels her grin against his lips when he shudders. 

She moves her lips to his ear. "Relax..." she says in her mother language as she runs her hands over his shoulders, digging her fingers into the grooves and ridges of his muscles. "Let me take care of you."

He seems to have listened, because she feels the stress slowly seep from his muscles as he buries his head in the crook of her neck, circling his arms around her. 

Natasha begins to move her pelvis against him, and one of his hands slips down to her hip. He helps guide her ministrations to the same pace as her breath, and she pants when the metal arm around her back tightens. 

He uses his nose to nudge her chin up, and she lets her head fall back, exposing him to the column of her neck. The sigh she lets out is positively obscene as he sucks on her shoulder and neck, and all he wants to do is draw that sound from her again. He makes a move to slide his hand in between their bodies, but her fingers are on his wrist, stopping him before he can even touch her. 

"Tonight's about you," she breathes, her gaze on his lips as she talks. She moves in closer, grazing his bottom lip with hers, before switching to her mother tongue. "Trust me, my love."

She drops her head to run her teeth along his shoulder, and he lets out a shaky exhale as she shoves her hands between them, grabbing the waist band of his underwear. He picks his hips up momentarily to allow her to pull them down, just low enough to expose his erection to her. She smiles wickedly as his abdomen tenses when she grabs the base, positioning herself over him. The hand on her hip guides her, and he lets out a choked groan when she slides down.

He closes his eyes and grips her thighs as she lifts herself up, and then back down again. He fit her like a glove, and he just couldn't get enough of her damn body. His breathing is ragged as he meets her thrusts with his own.

"Shit," she breathes into the night air, her fingers digging into his shoulders. It all feels like time is in slow motion when he reaches up to touch his thumb to her bottom lip, pulling her back in to him gingerly. Hands that were so rough on others were capable of being so gentle to her. It blew her mind.

His mouth is hot when she kisses him, and she can feel the sweat forming on her body as he rocks her on his hips. His pelvic bone rubs against her clit, and she has to be the one to break away from their kiss, leaning her warm forehead on his cool, metal shoulder to ground her, her shaky breaths and quiet whimpers fanning across his chest.

She knows he's on edge, even now, but Natasha turns her head anyways and bites down on his neck gently. He jumps under her, and the bionic arm tightens around her waist as he continues to thrust upwards. He leans his head down to kiss the tops of her breasts, and she runs her fingers through his hair as she sighs against his skin. 

This was new to her. They were both quick to get the other into bed whenever it was possible, but it wasn't usually this... _pure,_ really. This slow and gentle. She was one to usually prefer being dominated and handled quite roughly, but this was different. A good different. It was nice to be held in his arms like this.

He snakes a hand between them to massage her clit, and she finishes in minutes. Her hips spasm against his, and he follows suit shortly after, crushing her to his chest, whispering in her ear as his hands bruise her hips.

When their breathing is under control, he slips out of her, but when he lays back down on the bed, he pulls her down with him. She's hot and sweaty and pushes the blanket away from her as soon as he tries to pull it over them. Instead, she stretches out on top of him, touching his toes with hers, crossing her fingers over his chest, placing her chin on the tops of her hands.

She scrunches her face up when he reaches out to tap his pointer finger to the tip of her nose, watching her as he crosses the other hand, the metal one, behind his head. It was such a childish, innocent act, but it made her smile.

His hand moves to tuck her now sweaty hair behind her ear, and she leans her head into his touch. "You'll be okay, you know."

"I know," he says passively, his eyes fixated on his fingers playing with her hair. "I know."

He closes his eyes and leans his head back to rest on the pillow, and she stares at him. She's always admired the sharp cut of his jaw, and the stubble he's always too lazy to shave off, but she finds herself falling for the faint wrinkles forming around his eyes and on his forehead. He's been through a lot, and although the serum could withstand most of it, it still was written all over his face. 

"You helped me through the Red Room," she finally speaks, and he opens one eye. Her eyes are blurring, and she can feel the anger rise in her throat from the memories pinching the backs of her eyes. "You might not remember it, but you did. They made me believe lies and cons and secrets that weren't true, but you made me feel like I had a place, even when I was taught I didn't belong anywhere."

His gaze on hers is so intense she wants to advert her eyes, but she doesn't dare. She feels him run a hand up the back of her thigh, to her ass, to her back, all the way to her shoulder blade. He reaches out his other to brush a tear away that must have slipped through her defenses, and she's thankful he either doesn't notice or care about the angry blush that spreads across her cheeks and nose. It took a lot for her to be vulnerable around people, even him.

"Well, you'll always belong with me." He chuckles, but it's dead. "I might have put a bullet in my brain to quiet the ghosts if not for you.”

She tilts her head at him, frowning. "Don't say things like that, James."

He turns his head on the pillow, facing the window, looking out. She follows his gaze, the lights of Manhattan keeping the early morning sky lit, stars absent completely. The hand on her shoulder moves to her neck, and he pushes down gently until her head is resting on his chest. Her hands rest on his sides, her thumbs massaging the spaces between his ribs.

"You are my number one priority," he begins quietly, rubbing her back, trying to get her to fall asleep. He had to be up in two hours for a run with Sam - he wouldn't get any sleep, anyways. "You will always be that priority." He takes a deep breath, kissing the top of her head. "I love you."

She might have said it back quietly, running in and out of both English and Russian, but she already dozed off. His hand never stills on her back, trying his best to allow her to sleep as soundly as possible.

He doesn't even allow his alarm to go off at 6 am, letting Natasha get much deserved rest. He carefully slips out from under her, pulling the covers over her back just as a precaution. He scribbles where he's going with messy handwriting on a scratch piece of paper and leaves it on the bedside table, just in case she were to wake up before he got back. He zips up his hoodie and flips the hood over his head, glancing over his shoulder before he left, making sure she was still asleep. She was a fighter.

And as long as she was fighting, so would he.


	2. Do You Trust Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to do a Natasha version of the first chapter for quite some time, so here it is. Voilà! Enjoy :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year :)

All she could see was the blood on her hands, running down her arms and pooling at her feet as she stood in the shower, the scalding water burning her skin.

It wasn't recent. This blood was on her hands ever since the Red Room. It reappeared every so often, usually when she was alone, and she gave herself too much time to think.

It was silly almost, thinking back to her life in the 1950s, and how she handled herself so much better then, even if she were just a teenager. But, although her body hasn't aged a day past 25, her mental age had seen enough to last her a lifetime and a half. The older she got, the more things seemed to become more real, more grave. She never realized how much he sheltered her from the life she was living until he was gone. 

_He was gone._

The reality sets in as she scrubs her hands with a wash cloth, pressing down on her skin so hard she's sure she's making  _herself_ bleed. How could she have lived after him? He was the one good thing in that living hell, and he slipped through her fingers. Her airways constrict, and she has to tilt her head back to suck in a broken breath. 

Strong hands suddenly wind around her biceps from behind, and she jumps. _"Nat."_

She doesn't realize she's crying - sobbing, really - until her knees give out he has to physically hold her upright. The metal arm, warm from the water, goes around her waist. He pushes her against his chest, talking in her ear, shushing her, trying to bring her back to reality and out of her memories.

Natasha begins to slip from his metal grip, and so he falls to the shower floor with her. She hugs him around the neck so tight she's sure she's strangling him, but he doesn't seem to even notice as he holds her to him. 

"I-" she finally begins once she can breathe again, and he pushes the wet hair out of her face as he looks down at her, concern and fear donning every inch of his face. "I thought... I-"

"I know," he says, cutting her off, much to her relief. He leans in to kiss her forehead, and she collapses into his chest. His arms wind tighter around her, as if protecting her from the world. "I forget too, sometimes."

She wants to ask him how he knew, how does he  _always know,_ but she understands the reason behind the madness. Even now, after all this time, and all the times his memories were wiped and all the times he forgot her, he still knew her like the back of his hand, subconsciously. That was the one thing HYDRA could never take away from him - from her. 

They must look ridiculous, sitting on the tile floor naked, just allowing the water to fall into their eyes and into their mouths as if it were nothing. He's holding her against him as if he were trying to ward off any bad memories, and she took comfort in his heart beating soothingly in his chest under her cheek.

Eventually, her breathing calms and her tears seem to have subsided. She tries to move, to get up, but the metal arm around her waist isn't quite ready to let her go.

"We should get out," she sniffs, wiping her nose with the back of her hand as he eyes her. "Your arm is going to rust."

She feels him chuckle as she lay her head back on his chest. She's always had a biting sense of humor, even in the darkest of times.

Bucky situates her until he's cradling her, his metal arm wrapped around her back, holding her close, the other under her knees. "Come on," he murmurs, standing up, taking her with him effortlessly. He uses his toe to turn the water off before stepping out of the shower, never taking a hand off of her. "Let's get you to bed."

After he dries her off and wraps her in a towel, he picks her up again, carrying her through the bathroom door bridal style. He surveys his surroundings as he enters the bedroom, remnants of their previous activities still present. The sheets were tangled in a heap on the floor, a lacy bra was hanging from the bed post and the lamp was knocked off the nightstand. He remembers Natasha's foot accidentally kicking it off. 

He gently places her on the bed and withdraws his hands from her body, but she's quick to move, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

"Don't you dare leave me."

He smiles at her softly, reaching up to remove the hands on his shoulders. "I'm not leaving you," he tells her. Instead, he sits on the side of the bed, leaning down to grab his sweatpants from the floor. He pulls them over his waist before turning back to Natasha, brushing her wet hair out of her face as she stares at the ceiling. "What are you thinking about?"

She blinks. "All those years I somehow managed without you. I have no idea how I did it." 

"You're strong," he answers immediately, as if it were obvious. "Stronger than I ever hope to be."

"Not true." Natasha stretches, pointing her toes and reaching her arms above her head. She rolls her body and turns to him, deliberately letting the towel around her body expose her. "You're stronger. A  _lot_ stronger."

She doesn't miss the glint in his eye as he steals a glance at her body before returning to her face. "I- Natasha," he starts with a laugh, reaching out to grab her hip with his flesh hand, as if it were an involuntary movement. He could never get enough of her. 

" _Very_ strong." She's smiling now, her Cheshire cat-like grin at him, reaching up to gently place her fingers on his neck. He moves closer, the hand on her hip dropping lower to her smooth thigh. She lifts it slightly off the bed, arching her back, showing off her figure. "It's sexy."

Bucky shakes his head at her, but he's grinning like a mad man as he allows her to pull him lower. "You're driving me insane, Nat."

She closes her eyes and leans her head back, his other hand going to her side, and she can practically feel his eyes on her body. She bites her lip. "You love it." It's barely a whisper.

"Trust me, I do."

When he finally kisses her, it's hot and messy and downright dirty. The finger on his neck goes to grip his hair and pulls, and he instantly moves to hover over her. 

She gasps for air against his lips when the metal hand on her side slips underneath her, grabbing a handful of her ass, pressing her into him. He drops his thigh between her legs, and she shivers when she feels the material of his sweats against her. 

His kisses build her up so fast, she's already overwhelmed and overstimulated. With a whimper, she grinds her hips down onto his thigh, rocking her hips back and forth, tightening her hold on his hair. 

She hears the gears in his metal arm before she feels them. It grips her hip and stops her, hard. The other hand, the human one, grabs both her wrists, pinning them above just above her head. Bucky breaks the kiss, and she whimpers.

"I was getting to a steady pace there, James," she says with false annoyance, but her cheeks are flushed and sweat is already forming on her chest. Her eyes are still closed, but she knows he's smiling at her.

And with that, he slithers the metal fingers between her legs. She jolts, and her arms strain against his hold on her wrists. "Fuck," she lets out, a shiver running through her body. She'll never get used to how good the metal feels against her. 

Natasha opens her eyes, and she sees him watching her with such intensity, she blushes. "Rougher," she breathes out when she feels his fingers ghost over her clit. "Be rougher."

He hesitates, like he always does, and she knows why. He has an unbreakable arm, and although she's stronger than the average human, she's not stronger than him.

"I can handle it," she says with more confidence, fidgeting under his hold on her. She yanks on her wrists, but his hold clamps down so hard, she's sure she'll bruise. She smiles. 

He leans down to kiss her neck, and she sighs, tilting her head back and letting it roll to the side, goosebumps rising on her skin. "God, I love you," he murmurs, sucking on her skin. 

She hears the gears again, and cold metal closes around her knee, yanking her body farther down the bed. She yelps when her arms straighten and her bad shoulder begins to pull, but she nods when his gaze cuts to hers. 

He flips her onto her stomach before wrapping an arm around her stomach, forcing her onto her hands and knees. She's shaking from anticipation as she feels the bed shift under her, feeling Bucky get off before positioning a knee on the bed as he stood. Goosebumps flood her pale skin as a hand - his real one - grips her hip. He leans over her to kiss between her shoulder blades, and she's so turned on, she has to concentrate to keep her arms from giving out. 

Natasha almost screams when he enters her, she has to lean forward and bite her arm to keep the neighbors from hearing. She listens to him moan from behind her, the deep sound lost in his throat as he thrusts out, and then pushes himself even deeper. 

"Fuck," he murmurs, his fingers digging into her hip, not able to pry his eyes from the curve of her body, where her waist meets her hips. "You're so fucking  _wet._ "

She knows better than to answer him when they're like this. So, instead, she wills herself to keep up with his quick pace, rather than face plant into the duvet. Her arms are shaking, and his metal fingers tracing up her thigh doesn't help. The room is filled with their animalistic noises and skin slapping skin, and it smells of sex. She feels as if the air is hazy.

This time, Natasha actually  _does_ scream when they reach her clit. Pleasure is building within her so quickly, it practically hurts. She tries to squirm, tries to rock herself back and forth to get off quicker, but the hand on her hip tightens, and the moan she lets out is so dirty, even _she_ is a bit embarrassed. 

Bucky's fingers on her clit work at an inhuman rate, so it doesn't take long until she's clinging desperately to the bedding under her, thankful that he finally allows her to grind back on him, allowing her to ride out her orgasm. 

She falls forward onto the bed, but she's quickly yanked back up onto her feet in front of him. She's shaking from her orgasm and her legs are jelly, and he has to physically hold her up. He doesn't miss a beat and continues to thrust, and her hands grasp for  _something -_ his arms, his wrists, his hips behind her. 

"I'm not finished," he murmurs in her ear, and her knees give out. His flesh hand travels to her throat and his metal one stays trained on her clit. She's begging him to let her go - let her finish  _again -_ but he doesn't let up, which is exactly what she wants. 

His chest is sliding against her back as he thrusts upwards, and their sweat does little to cure her fever. Her hair is sticking to her forehead when she reaches up to haphazardly push it out of her eyes, and she's breathless when he bites down on her shoulder, tightening his hold on her neck. 

"James," she wheezes out between violent moans, her nails digging into his arm. His breath is hot on her skin when he lifts his head from her shoulder and mutters a shaky " _shit_ " into her hair.

"I'm gonna-" she begins, but he doesn't let her finish when the metal on her clit speeds up, and she lets out a desperate cry. 

"Not yet," he lets out in her ear, pressing his index finger down into the gap between her collarbones hard enough for her to gasp. " _Come on_ ," he continues, more so for himself, pushing her forward, back onto the bed. She finds it difficult to focus on holding herself up on her hands as his thrusts continue to grow faster and more desperate. 

His breath is fast and rough on her sweaty back as he hunches over her, his flesh hand tangling itself in her fiery hair. He tugs roughly as he tugs on her clit, sending her into another orgasm. Bucky can't see her face, but from the noises she's making, he's sure she's crying. 

Natasha's orgasm is enough to push him over the edge as well, and a long string of curses in many different languages are let out before he falls forward, collapsing onto her. 

They stay like that for quite some time, the only noise in the room being their uneven breathing. Eventually, Bucky reaches beside her, pushing himself up, rolling over onto his back next to her. She hisses when he pulls out, and if he wasn't so goddamn tired, he'd smirk from her overstimulation. 

He turns his head to look at her, and she's staring right back, her lips bruised from their kisses, her skin red from his hands. Her back is rising sharply with her breaths, and her cheeks are flushed. 

"I'm gonna get a towel to clean up," he tells her, breathless. He pushes the long hair out of his eyes before getting up, making his way to the bathroom. When he returns, she barely moved, only to roll over onto her back. 

"I don't think I'll ever be able to walk again," she tells him when she sees him, and he smirks, his hand much lighter on her knee than before, cleaning her inner thigh. He doesn't miss the goosebumps that spread across her skin. 

"You'll be fine. If not, I'll carry you everywhere," he tells her when he's finished, wadding the towel up in a ball before tossing it through the bathroom doorway, landing somewhere on the ground. She pulls him back on top of her by the shoulders before he could fetch himself the pants he discarded on the floor, and he's laughing when she leans in to kiss him.

"Feeling better?" He asks, running his hands up her sides, making sure she was okay. It wasn't always that easy to just simply switch out of the mode he was in. 

"Mmm," she smiles in return, her eyes heavy. "We need to do that more often. If you're up for it, anyway. I know you can't be that rough all the time." 

"For you?" He starts, pulling the covers back. She maneuvers herself under the sheets, pulling him with her. "You know I'd do anything for you."

She blushes when he kisses her nose, playing with the strands of hair that frames his face. He stares down at her, his fingertip tracing her face, temple to jaw. It amazed him how beautiful she was, and how he was the only one she allowed in. It amazed him. It actually blew his mind that one of the most feared assassins in the world allowed him into her heart. The moonlight mixes with the city lights before pouring into their bedroom, casting a pale glow on the woman in his arms. She breathes in through pouted pink lips, the stars outside making her glow and sparkle under him.

"I love you," he lets out without thinking, but she welcomes it with a smile and a kiss. She may have said it back, but his head is swimming and his gaze is lost on her.  _Fuck,_ he loves her so much.

"I  _just_ took a shower, and you already ruined me," Natasha teases him, pulling him out of his thoughts, making a big show of turning in his arms and putting her back to him. "I need another," she continues, glancing over her shoulder at him with a smirk. "Care to join me?"

"Tomorrow," he sighs, wrapping his arms around her waist. She cuddles her back into his chest, feeling safe and at home and _alive_  in his arms. Unlike before, in the shower, this was very, very real. "Now, we sleep."

And they did. Without one single nightmare. 


End file.
